addressed from Hedgebrook

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A friend of mine is at Hedgebrook–annnnnd she’s staying in the same cottage I was assigned years ago!!!

I remember that when I was at Hedgebrook, I corresponded with a friend S, who had herself stayed at Hedgebrook a few years prior. Her excitement and nostalgia for the place buoyed me on certain days and I remember, because of her enthusiasm that even in my loneliest moments there, I held every minute as dear and precious. Even if I didn’t understand what I was going through, or even if not every moment was pleasant, I had a sense it was important and to be remembered. She also said that she felt she was experiencing Hedgebrook again, vicariously, through me.

And now? Remarkable! I know exactly how S felt–because now as I email my friend at Hedgebrook, I’m overwhelmed by excitement and nostalgia for that little haven on an island in Puget Sound. She’s in the same cottage! I can imagine her now, spending her first night in the cottage, figuring out how to navigate the ladder to the loft, how to get a fire going in the wood stove, organizing her writing space.

I was not always happy at Hedgebrook–there were lots of agonizing, lonely moments for me. There were moments that I felt like Toru Okada, the narrator of The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, sitting alone in the bottom of that dark deep well, unaware of how much time had passed and wondering if his absence had any impact on anyone, digging deep into his soul to keep his psyche and mind intact. But like Toru, I also experienced other worldly moments only reachable through extreme solitary focus.

Time moved very slowly there–and at times the agony was quite literal because I had a persistent headache for the first week of my stay. I found the place very beautiful but what I wanted to do was invite friends over or really, have my husband stay with me to enjoy it together. But I learned to appreciate the beauty by myself. I was wrenched from a life where I focus my eye on others and I was forced to move that wandering eye back onto myself.

It was not easy. But it was so valuable.

And I met a friend for life while there. I think that was the most wonderful find there, and it was totally unexpected–she arrived on a day where I’d given up all hope that I’d find someone to talk to, possibly the loneliest day of my stay. I hadn’t laughed for days–the other women writers were very bright and focused people that I respected…but dude, they NEVER LAUGHED. There were other more complicated relationship issues at hand as well, but the essence was that there was no laughter.

In my life, laughter is a consistent presence. I judge my work on laughter–if I can go a whole day at work without laughing or giggling, it’s a sign to me that something is terribly wrong. I just laugh a lot. And I had NOT laughed in a week.

I did not realize it at the time, but I was just dying. So when it happened that R and I were in the Farmhouse, after dinner alone…and I laughed at a joke she cracked, the ice utterly broke. “I thought I wasn’t funny!” she shrieked. She’d told a similar joke at dinner, to grim faces. Of course she was funny, she is f*cking hilarious. She was my medicine–the kind of medicine without a bitter taste, that tasted good. Herbal medicine. With lots of sugar.

Because of her and the kind staff there (one person came by and found me crying in the pump house and consoled me by saying that I was detoxing–that some women come by and write up a storm, and others take the time to decompress), I have largely happy memories of the place. In fact, I remember it mostly as a haven, for the things that I have walked out with. A great friend, wonderful scenery, beautiful weather, a heavenly cottage, and renewed strength from my solitary. I emerged too, with some novel writing, and a new short story.

And so, for my friend, I wish her all the good things while at Hedgebrook–I wish her many visits from the bunny rabbits in the meadow, a glimpse of Mount Rainier, a happy day on the beach with a friend, a nuzzle from a llama across the road, and many good epiphanies.

And to her–I am grateful for the rushing back of good memories of the place.

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